Duchess of York. At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops
2445Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

Edmund of Langley. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
2450Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee,
Bolingbroke!'
You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
2455Upon his visage, and that all the walls
With painted imagery had said at once
'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!'
Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
2460Bespake them thus: 'I thank you, countrymen:'
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Edmund of Langley. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
2465Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!'
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
2470But dust was thrown upon his sacred head:
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
2475The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events,
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
2480Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

Edmund of Langley. Aumerle that was;
But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
2485I am in parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

[Enter DUKE OF AUMERLE]

Duchess of York. Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new come spring?
2490

Duke of Aumerle. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
God knows I had as lief be none as one.

Edmund of Langley. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?
2495

Duchess of York. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
2540Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
2545

Edmund of Langley. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.
2550

Duchess of York. He shall be none;
We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?

Edmund of Langley. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.

Duchess of York. Hadst thou groan'd for him
2555As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
2560He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

Duchess of York. After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;
Spur post, and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
2570And never will I rise up from the ground
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone!